


water

by gacha



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Makoto-centric, makoto and arashi are friends goddammit show them SUPPOOOORT, stylized writing, we talking about TRAUMA babey, yknow how makoto is triggered by cameras and suddenly dropped out of modeling? yeah.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gacha/pseuds/gacha
Summary: makoto curls in on himself, tucking the truth away, making it small, closing it, himself, off. if he's small enough, locked tight enough, he can't be touched, can't be spread out or gazed upon....and there's water, water from his eyes and from his mouth when he spits his bitterness, water down his throat as he tries to swallow the truth and the anger and sadness, the ghost of foggy, scalding water all over his body as he tries to wash himself raw and red and ragged so he's not pretty enough for the camera or for his shoot manager, water right there in front of him, a spring, too cold and crystalline to be of any help to him or his skin now—"just go, izumi."
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Sena Izumi & Yuuki Makoto (Ensemble Stars!)
Kudos: 18





	water

**Author's Note:**

> please heed the tags. there are no explicit or near-explicit statements or descriptions regarding what happened, but it is very easily inferred, so... yeah. a lot of this is very personal for me, and if it is for you too, my heart goes out to you.

tori drops his racket with a thump and jumps to makoto, tugging at his sleeve. "aw, yuuki-senpai, so perfect for me! yay~!" he cheers, elated to have beat izumi and nazuna 45-love, finally. "maybe you have some use playing tennis after all! hey, i'm sorry for all the times i said you sucked, now we've won!"

makoto can't be so happy about it.

"oi, he's not 'perfect for you,' momo-kun," izumi snaps, jealousy dripping from him like sweat. nazuna says something no one quite catches. "if anyone, he'd be perfect for me. right, yuu-kun?" it's a joke, sort of, affection, in a way.

 _perfect for me_ echoes in makoto's head.

"i-i think i'm gonna go in and cool off," he says with as much restraint as he can muster. tori berates izumi, "you scared him off again!"; nazuna teases him, "oh? rivals in love, hum?"; makoto ignores all of them as he leaves, panic quickening his pace.

_perfect for me_ , a camera snapping, the flash of lights and flash of pain as…

makoto plops down on the futon from his unit's first practice, near forgotten in the corner of their usual practice room, untouched by any other unit as if by a lucky streak.

he doesn't feel very lucky right now, though.

makoto curls in on himself, tucking the truth away, making it small, closing it, himself, off. if he's small enough, locked tight enough, he can't be touched, can't be spread out or gazed upon.

he hears that damn phrase, that damn voice, sees that damn man in his memory; wasn't it enough the first twenty times? the very first time, even?

he'd heard arashi had walked onto her shoot the next week and decked the bastard on sight. she'd split her knuckles on his jaw, and blood from his nose stained her favorite white boots when he groveled.

eichi took her name and face out of the media to protect yumenosaki's reputation, but arashi made for damn sure the old manager was seen and heard, loud and crystal clear. he'd been convicted only weeks later. they found what they needed (evidence that makoto himself was among, undoubtedly; the thought sat heavy in his throat, and he was further weighed down with the knowledge he'd been seen far more times by far more people—) and locked him up. and makoto locked the memory away, or tried.

but he couldn't just lock it all up nice and neat, unfortunately, just as the doors around him wouldn't either, and in waltzed a familiar face he was only marginally more relieved to see than the one burned into his brain and behind his eyes at the moment.

"yuu-kun? what are you doing here like this? the a/c in here is atrocious, come on now." izumi kneels in front of him, frowning. "you look terrible, yuu-kun. here," he sets a cold cloth atop his head and then-then he opens a bottle of water, and he pries makoto's knees apart so his arms won't stay wrapped around them and he can place the water snugly in his palm, he's just trying to help, _even if he only wants to see him pretty just like his manager had—no, don't think that—_ but it hurts more than he knows. makoto knocks the bottle from izumi's hands, flinching so violently that even the towel drops from his hair. he half-falls back, a reflexive plea on his lips at the same time izumi goes, "what the hell?"

izumi reapproaches, grabbing his shoulder this time, and this time, makoto yells. he yells and he kicks and shakes his head and as izumi, worried, tries to steady him, he says, "please don't."

izumi's hands slide off of him and it seems to dawn on him that something is amiss, finally. for once izumi is attentive to his discomfort, he thinks. bitterly. "what's the matter, yuu-kun?"

and in a moment of vulnerability, a moment of regression where he's a child again—a child who smiles brightly for the cameras and commercials, who bounces to his silver-haired best friend after their work is all done—he tells izumi. for just a little moment, makoto is not seventeen and ruined. it is a decade earlier and he can tell his best friend anything and everything.

izumi hasn't looked or been so heartbroken since makoto first snapped at him. when his frustration and resentment had finally bubbled over and he'd told izumi he hated him…

"i'm sorry," but are you for real, "if i had known," there's a reason you didn't, no one did, "i would've stopped," why couldn't you just stop the first time i said it, he didn't either, that's how this all got started, because someone wouldn't stop when i said stop, and that's the whole reason i needed you to stop, and you wouldn't, and this fucking sucks—"i wish you would have told me," i kind of wish i could have told you then, but i really wish i hadn't told you now, "i could have done something…"

"like what?"

"like told someone, like made them stop," as if,

"he wouldn't have listened. you don't even know what stop means yourself," and there's water, water from his eyes and from his mouth when he spits his bitterness, water down his throat as he tries to swallow the truth and the anger and sadness, the ghost of foggy, scalding water all over his body as he tries to wash himself raw and red and ragged so he's not pretty enough for the camera or for his shoot manager, water right there in front of him, a spring, too cold and crystalline to be of any help to him or his skin now—

"just go, izumi."

and he doesn't, because he never does, because he doesn't know when to quit. he asks, "can i do something for you?"

makoto takes pity on him, the boy who probably pities him now (he doesn't. izumi doesn't pity him. he's heartbroken and angry with himself, and he can't imagine what it must have been like for yuu-kun, but pity is not one of many emotions swelling in his eyes and throat and chest), and he requests, "let narukami know i'm heading home. tell her she can come with me."

izumi swallows his pride and his tears and his protests, then leaves the room wordlessly. he can't speak for all the feeling in his throat, knows he wouldn't be able to without giving himself away.

he walks past the tennis court, past tori and nazuna's disgruntled expressions, and heads for the track. when he relays makoto's message to arashi, he does so quietly, with a hand covering his lips, hovering close to her ear. he knows she detects the upset in his own voice, so he emphasizes yuu-kun's upset, insisting she go check on him (so she can't afford to delay to check on izumi). she tells her fellow team members something has come up, she has to go, and they're so trusting and understanding of arashi and her decision to leave, like izumi wasn't with yuu-kun's—"sena-senpai, what's wrong, hey?"

"tenma, it's hurtful to pry into others' business. we should focus on practice," adonis says, so izumi accepts the gift of dismissal and returns to his own club's territory.

"sena-senpai! what do you think you're doing, running off after yuuki-senpai like a fool again? while we're here working like cattle?! unbelievable!" _entitled brat,_ izumi thinks, _just like me._ he ignores momo-kun and instead turns to nazuna. "i'm going home," he states. nazuna has always been too observant, too analytical. for once, he says nothing biting about him and makoto. he nods and asks no questions. "i'll call you later," he says, and he thinks just maybe nazunyan is his friend after all.

he ignores nazuna later, though. he taps into his and arashi's text thread. _did you walk yuu-kun home? will he be at school tomorrow?_ backspace, backspace. _is he okay?_ backspace. _did he say anything about me?_ backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace. _tell yuu-kun i'm sorry._ send.

she responds with a single heart emoji, and izumi goes to bed.

makoto does not. he can't stand the feeling of silk against his skin, being in a bed, scrunched into sheets right now. he sits outside, feeling safe as he's freezing (because the cold is an absence of body heat). he considers calling someone, asking for company, but all his friends are so touchy and isara-kun hates being caught up in things (plus, he can't communicate his feelings well anyway), so he's better off alone.

his mother yells from inside. makoto decides he'll sleep at the school—his futon is still there, after all. despite everything, fondness twists his lips as he thinks about it, thinks about lugging the damn thing all the way there for trickstar's bold, brash beginning. so then he thinks about trickstar, about people he trusts, people who love him, who believe in him, who support him and his dreams and his effort.

people who will protect him.

up he gets and walks his way to yumenosaki.

**Author's Note:**

> tentative follow-up chapter planned.  
> again my heart goes out to everyone who's ever been through something of this nature. we're not ruined nor are we destined to be unhappy forever.
> 
> my decision to write with lapslock was kind of like, because I thought it would better convey the sort of dull hurt something like this is (at least as I often experience it), and I hope such didn't drastically affect readability. 
> 
> thank you for reading.
> 
> [tumblr](https://suckuma.tumblr.com) that I am practically never on, but I digress—


End file.
